


Far Off Thou Art, But Ever Nigh

by Pargoletta



Series: Caro-verse [4]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: M/M, Orphanage, Orphans, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pargoletta/pseuds/Pargoletta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the throes of fresh grief, an elderly Benvolio sees a window open even as doors close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Off Thou Art, But Ever Nigh

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Welcome to this story. It's just a short one, set about two years before the last chapter of _Caro._ It was originally written for Wizefics's Candy Hearts Challenge on LJ, and the prompt given was BE MINE. It's about twice as long as she had originally intended, but as long as she's fine with it, I'm fine with it.
> 
> The title for this story comes from a very long poem entitled "In Memoriam" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. The original stanza goes:
> 
> Far off thou art, but ever nigh;
> 
> I have thee still, and I rejoice;
> 
> I prosper, circled with thy voice;
> 
> I shall not lose thee tho' I die.

**Far Off Thou Art, But Ever Nigh**

* * *

 **  
**

The hour after the conclusion of a funeral feast was quite possibly the loneliest hour of all. Benvolio was certain that he had read that sentiment in one book or another at some point during his fifty-seven years, and he had come to trust its basic truth as various friends and kin had died. But tonight's funeral feast was different. Tonight, Benvolio sat in a drawing room in the palace lit only by a few torches, and listened to the hushed conversation of the other mourners alone, for the subject of the funeral orations had been Mercutio, his dearly loved consort of nearly forty years. Surely the hour after this funeral feast held a special loneliness.

His loneliness was not quite absolute; Benvolio did not lack company. Though his name had not been mentioned at Mercutio's funeral out of deference to Verona's standards of propriety, those of his acquaintance who knew the true nature of their bond had not hesitated to offer what comfort they could. Romeo, a widower himself, had stayed at Benvolio's side during the burial and the feast, silently sharing his cousin's grief. And Valentine, whom Benvolio had long considered to be his brother as well as Mercutio's, had returned from Milan with his wife Silvia nearly three weeks before in order to bid Mercutio farewell and weep with Benvolio over his passing. They sat with Benvolio and bore him company, but neither Romeo nor Valentine could fill the aching void in his heart.

Quiet conversation flowed around him, and bodies moved slowly around the drawing room. Many were old men and women, bearing the weight of their years and the losses they had seen. Others were in the prime of their lives, their sorrowful burdens fewer and more temporary. At that thought, Benvolio remembered a promise he had made to Mercutio. It had been a minor promise, but even a minor promise must be kept. He braced his aging bones and rose from his chair to seek out two particular persons in the room.

Valentine came to him willingly, offering a gentle handclasp. Together, they sought out Marcello Montague, Benvolio's nephew and godson. From the moment of Marcello's birth, Benvolio had treasured him as something approaching the son he would never have, and he had been pleased beyond measure when Mercutio had chosen Marcello for the honor that Benvolio was about to bestow.

Marcello turned to greet Benvolio, moving with a grace that echoed Romeo's youthful self-confidence, though the expressive green eyes that shone with sympathy were a legacy from his late mother, Juliet. Benvolio tried to smile at him, but failed, and settled for drawing both Marcello and Valentine away from the crowd.

"I pray you, hear my words swiftly," he said, "for I have not the heart for lengthy discourse."

"Speak, uncle," Marcello said, "and I will listen." Valentine murmured his agreement.

"Before he died, Mercutio and I had conversation concerning his affairs on earth," Benvolio said, fighting back a stab of pain in his chest at the memory. "A lawyer will read his will shortly, and you shall both inherit lands and monies. But he made it known to me that he wished for his interest in the Innocents' Hospital of Verona to derive to both of you as well, and to your heirs."

Valentine nodded soberly, as if he had been expecting that. Marcello sucked in his breath, clearly surprised. Then he, too, gave a nod, just as clearly conscious of the honor. At that, Benvolio managed a half-smile of satisfaction. Mercutio had chosen well. "For myself," Benvolio went on, "I would count it a great boon if thou, Marcello, would assume some of the duties of administering the Hospital, for I am old and sore of heart at this."

"Of course, uncle," Marcello said, smiling a little into his beard. "Good Signior Valentine, perhaps thou and I shall meet on the morrow to discuss this matter further? I would not trouble my uncle further when his heart is so heavy."

"Ay, on the morrow," Valentine said. "Tonight I shall mourn my brother, and tomorrow, I shall assume his legacy."

Marcello bowed to him, clasped Benvolio's hand, and went to seek Romeo to escort him home. As he left, Helena, Dowager Princess of Verona, approached Benvolio and Valentine, accompanied by her son, the young Prince Dionisio. Though grown stiffer with age, Helena's bearing was as gracious as ever. Helena embraced Valentine, and kissed Benvolio on both cheeks.

"I grieve with thee, Benvolio," she said, and Benvolio's heart was warmed by the words of his friend, the only woman he had ever tried to love.

"Master Benvolio," Dionisio said, "the hour grows late, and I would escort my lady mother to her chambers. But ere I depart, I would have thee know that I shall not begrudge thee thy chambers in the palace, though my noble kinsman who claimed them is dead. Thou may'st ever consider the palace thy home."

Benvolio inclined his head in gratitude. "I thank you, noble Prince," he said, though he wondered how he should ever find rest alone in the bed he had shared with his lover.

"Ever art thou welcome in this house," Dioniso replied. Helena stroked her hand once down the side of Benvolio's face, and then took her son's arm, and they departed.

Valentine heaved a sigh. "Shall we share a cup of wine and conversation?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Benvolio shook his head. "Nay. Thou art weary with grief, as am I. Go thou to thy Silvia. We shall speak more later."

"Wilt thou be well?"

"I know not." Benvolio considered for a moment. "I would walk in the cool of the night," he said. Valentine said no more, but held Benvolio for a moment, then went to find Silvia. Benvolio summoned a page to attend him, and set out into the quiet, dark street.

* * *

The page maintained a discreet distance, allowing Benvolio to indulge himself in his grief at last. His eyes watered as he walked, though he knew not whether he wept. In these streets, he had run and played and had later conducted business, all with Mercutio at his side. He would have to learn to walk the streets of Verona alone.

Before his dark thoughts could overwhelm him, something caught Benvolio's eye, and he moved to investigate. A pile of rags left carelessly in a doorway suddenly sat up and became a starveling boy of roughly twelve years, his expression at once pleading and suspicious beneath a mop of dirty blond hair. Surprised, he blinked at Benvolio, then held out a grubby hand.

"A coin, your worship?" he asked. "I have not eaten this day, prithee, by the grace of God, give me succor."

A vision flashed in Benvolio's mind, of another young boy, mysteriously unable to eat food placed before him without choking. Something liquid swam in his eyes, and he quickly fumbled for a coin in his belt pouch.

"What is thy name, child?" he asked, as he dropped the coin into the boy's hand. "Wherefore dost thou crouch in such a darksome hole as this?"

The boy inspected the coin on both sides and bit it as well. Satisfied that it was not a forgery, he secreted it somewhere in his clothing and glanced up at the wealthy gentleman before him. "My name is Ferrucio Stornello, your worship," he said. "I am here because I lack other home or kin. My grandfather cared for me until he grew sick, and I cared for him until he died, some five months past."

"Was there none who could help thee?"

Ferrucio shook his head. "We had a little land, just outside the walls of Mantua. I could not farm it alone, and the Duke's soldiers drove me away. I came to Verona seeking to be bound apprentice to any craftsman who would have me, but I have found none who will give me work."

This was a story that Benvolio had heard far too many times before. "And now thou must beg in the streets . . . "

"Or else sell myself to the apple-squires," Ferrucio said. "I do not wish to do that."

"Nay, thou dost not," Benvolio said, closing his eyes as another vision, of his beloved friend injured and bleeding at his father's hands, flashed in his mind's eye. The horror of that memory burned through the fog that had enveloped him since Mercutio's death. He had made other promises to Mercutio, and it was time to keep them now. Benvolio made an effort to smile, and held out his hand to Ferrucio.

"Might I offer thee comfort?" he asked. Ferrucio's eyes narrowed, and he shrank away. "Nay, it is not as thou dost imagine. I am no apple-squire. I am Benvolio Montague, a gentleman of this city. I know of a refuge, created precisely for youths such as thyself. Thou wilt find food there, and a warm bed, and perhaps the apprenticeship that thou desirest."

Ferrucio hesitated, torn by fear and indecision. "Wherefore make you this offer to me, your worship?" he asked. "What is the cost of such an Eden on earth?"

"There is no cost, save only thy good cheer," Benvolio assured him. "I see that thou dost mourn thy grandfather. Shall I tell thee that I grieve as well? I have lost the sweetest friend I had, who in his youth did build a home for the orphans within Verona's walls. Wilt thou do honor to his memory and come to that haven?"

Ferrucio glanced at the cold pavement on which he sat, then reached out and took Benvolio's outstretched hand. They did not speak as they walked the short distance to the Innocents' Hospital.

One of the nursemaids opened the door at Benvolio's knock and welcomed them inside. Benvolio presented Ferrucio, and called for food and a bed for the boy and asked that a physician be summoned to examine him in the morning. Stunned and disbelieving, Ferrucio begged Benvolio to remain at his side as he ate and drank, and Benvolio consented. The act of caring for the lost child seemed balm to his wounded soul, and he recalled that Mercutio had intended the Hospital to be a place of comfort.

Ferrucio clasped his hand again as another maid ushered them to a dormitory where an empty bed had been freshly made up. The maid gave Ferrucio a clean nightgown in exchange for his filthy, tattered clothing. Benvolio tucked the boy into bed himself, then sat beside him, stroking his withered hand over the dirty blond hair. Slowly, Ferrucio relaxed under his ministrations.

"My lord Benvolio?" he asked, blinking slowly.

"Ay?"

"If . . . if it be not impertinent to ask . . . prithee, would you be my grandfather?"

Upon hearing those words, Benvolio's heart gave such a spasm that he thought it might break. His devotion to Mercutio had cost him the chance to sire children of his own, and he had never dared to dream that any would call him grandfather. But now . . . he closed his eyes, and saw Mercutio before him, beaming in delight that his great work would continue. A tear trickled down his face, and he opened his eyes. "Ay, Ferrucio," he said. "It would be my honor to be thy grandfather."

Ferrucio smiled, and was at last able to fall asleep. Benvolio watched him sleep for a while, and considered his options. He had no desire to return to the palace and sleep alone in the bed where Mercutio had curled warm against his body and where the sheets still retained an echo of Mercutio's scent, but perhaps he might find sleep in the home that Mercutio's will and determination had made for those in need.

He approached the matron of the Hospital and asked that a bed be prepared for him as well. It was clean and soft, and the sheets smelled of dried herbs. He would remain for a few days, he decided, until Ferrucio had become accustomed to his new surroundings, or perhaps until the ache in his own heart faded.

* * *

END

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Afterword: Many thanks for reading and enjoying this story. And many thanks to Wizefics for the challenge!


End file.
